


Ratchet has Accidentally Adopted a Magical Girl Squad

by squireofgeekdom



Series: The Magical Girls Squad [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, absolutely none of the characters named in this fic are cis, general ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: In which Ratchet doesn’t have time for bullshit, Megatron’s dramatic trench coat sometimes comes in handy, bonding over craving pickles is valid, Ravage isn’t actually Megatron’s cat, Rodimus attempts magical roommate-telepathy, Minimus is Not Relaxed, there will be no psuedoscience in Ratchet’s dorm, Drift doesn’t like labels, Rodimus isn’t actually coming up with a routine for Penn and Teller, anything that seems like a hallucination can be blamed on bad ramen, Ravage has the worst job, only Drift can prevent forest fires, and Rodimus doesn’t know why she bought frozen corn but it’s useful anyway.





	Ratchet has Accidentally Adopted a Magical Girl Squad

**Author's Note:**

> Someone mentioned magical girls and transformers in the same sentence literally months ago and this has not left my head since. 
> 
> Corresponding art that led to all of this is here: http://squireofgeekdom.tumblr.com/post/177431148489/literally-months-ago-someone
> 
> this was just meant to be the working title for the google doc but I realized I would never come up with a better title and here we are

 

Ratchet opens the door, short red hair more disheveled than usual, their oversized red and white sweater rumpled.

 

“What the hell do you want at this -” They let out a deep sigh as they recognize Drift and Rodimus. “Oh, for - come on. Get in here. You two with them? Alright, whatever, come in - ” Ratchet continues to grumble under their breath, “ - guess I’m just running a free clinic now, bring your stupid three am injuries to the dumbass med student…” 

 

They all shamble into Ratchet’s room.

 

“If any of you are bleeding, don’t you dare sit on the bed, I just did laundry.” They chuck a sweater off the back of a chair to clear space and then duck into the kitchen. Rodimus can hear Ratchet puttering around, a familiar routine of sounds. She sits down next to Drift on the bed, while Megatron and Minimus squish on to the free chair. Minimus is looking better than she had been just a little while ago, though Rodimus knows well enough to recognize the way she’s still setting her jaw - the hit to her shoulder must still hurt. Megatron tucks her coat around Minimus, proving that, for once, her giant stupid ‘ _ dramatic’ _ trench coat is good for something.

 

Ratchet’s got a bunch of paper flowers - Drift’s doing - stuck in a mug by their bed. Rodimus picks up the one done in trans pride flag colors from between the nonbinary and aro flowers and twirls it around in her hand, just to have something to do. Drift leans back next to her - unhurt, thankfully, hair barely even mussed from the fighting, because Drift is seven different kinds of perfect. Rodimus grins, picks up the nonbinary pride flower, spins it around and tucks it in Drift’s bun. Drift smiles. 

 

“What the hell did you do to yourselves this time -” She hears Ratchet begin to ask from the kitchen.

 

“Well -” Rodimus starts -

 

Ratchet comes back out into the room, a mug in one hand, and holds up the other. “No, actually, I don’t want to know what ridiculous story you’re going to come up with, just tell me where it hurts.” 

 

Rodimus grins. Ratchet’s never got any time for bullshit, which, to be real, sometimes means no time for Rodimus’s bullshit, like now, but sometimes it means no time for the bullshit from the university health insurance reps who try to give Rodimus the runaround on covering HRT, which makes Ratchet a strong contender for MVP in Rodimus’s book. Grinning through their exasperation is  _ more _ than worth it.

 

It’s probably for the best anyway, she hadn’t actually come up with a cover story on the way over here, and Ratchet’s heard enough of her ‘bullshit on the spot’ endeavors. She has no idea what Ratchet  _ thinks  _ the lot of them are actually up to, but trying to picture the shade Ratchet’s face would turn if she told them the truth is entertaining. They’d definitely assume Rodimus was just making up another ridiculous story, but the audacity and absurdity of ‘a cat gave us these badges that gave us powers and snazzy outfits, and now we Fight Evil’ would probably make them -- well, a little more exasperated than usual.

 

But, she considers, if she transformed right in front of them... well, they’d probably try and take the badge and give it to Perceptor to try and ...science it, or whatever. It’d probably involve a lot of nano-holo-tech-blah-blah-blah it does the magic thing good, she can light things on fire and it’s awesome, so who really cares? 

 

And Ratchet would  _ definitely  _ yell at them more if they knew how much danger the two of them - the four of them, now - were really getting in to, and more Ratchet yelling? Not something Rodimus needs.

 

Well, unless it’s at insurance reps. That she’s more than okay with. Yelling at Rodimus? Not great.

 

More than that, Ratchet would worry about them more, because Ratchet does that, and even if it doesn’t seem like it, Rodimus doesn’t actually  _ like  _ making Ratchet worry all the time? Like, holy shit, Ratchet has  _ so much  _ going on, the size of the stack of medical textbooks sitting alarmingly close to the bed is  _ already  _ making her brain hurt just looking at it. And Ratchet helps Rodimus with estrogen injections, because Drift can’t deal with needles, and it’s not that Rodimus can’t do it on her own, she totally can, she has, plenty before she met Ratch, but like, it’s  _ nice _ to have someone else who knows what they’re doing to help. Also, Rodimus half-suspects that Ratchet’s helping Megatron with hers too, because Megatron’s hatred of needles is legendary. 

 

And... they keep marshmallows for hot chocolate, and Rodimus’d bet they still have the weird tea that Drift loves so much around, even though they’re on a shoestring med student budget (which they will not let her and Drift forget). Maybe it’s silly to try and protect someone who’s years older than her (which they  _ also  _ won’t let the two of them of them forget - even though Rodimus isn’t sure if it’s even true, because it’s not like she and Drift came into undergrad in anything resembling the traditional way, but  _ she’s  _ not going to be the one to ask Ratchet how old they are), but she wants to do it anyway. Ratchet’s one of her people.

 

Ratchet pushes the mug of hot chocolate, piled high with marshmallows, at Rodimus, which only makes her grin wider. “Tea’s on,” they tell Drift, because she was  _ right _ , they  _ totally  _ still have that box of Drift’s weird herbal tea stashed away somewhere in their kitchen. 

 

“Thanks, Ratchet,” The two of them say in unison.

 

“Whatever you two want -” Ratchet starts to say to Megatron and Minimus, and then does a double take at how Minimus is practically drowning in Megatron’s coat, pulled halfway into Megatron’s lap and apparently still shivering. 

 

Without saying anything, Ratchet turns to yank a blanket off of their bed - forcing Drift and Rodimus to jump upright to avoid being toppled. Rodimus lets out - well, it’s not a  _ yelp,  _ really, it’s  _ not _ , but it is a  _ noise _ .

 

“Don’t you dare spill anything.” Ratchet says to Rodimus, tossing the blanket towards Megatron and Minimus. “What do you need?” They ask the two of them. “I’m not giving you anything caffeinated at this hour,” They say, despite the fact that there is, based on the smell,  _ clearly  _ a mug of coffee on their own desk. “but I’ve got hot chocolate, that tea... milk… probably some orange juice.” They lean into the kitchen, looking around.

 

“I don’t - need…” Minimus stutters out.

 

Ratchet looks at her, evaluating. “I’m making you hot chocolate. You’re not lactose intolerant or anything, are you?”

 

“No - I’m - you don’t -”

 

“Trust me, there’s no arguing with Ratchet.” Rodimus says, as Megatron wraps the still-shivering Minimus more tightly into the blanket. 

 

“If you want something other than hot chocolate, speak up now,”

 

Minimus just sighs. Megatron lifts up a corner of the blanket to reach into the pocket of her coat, still wrapped around Minimus, and pull out one of those energy bars Minimus likes - which is a good enough idea that Rodimus is annoyed she didn’t have it first, it’s not like she doesn’t have enough pockets for it, she’s literally wearing three layers  _ at all times _ . Energy bars are smart, Mims is usually too tired and shaken up to eat after getting knocked out of Magnus mode, like tonight, but the second shift burns off enough energy that she’ll be  _ ravenous _ if she doesn’t. That one the team had learned the hard way - though, admittedly, watching Mims tear her way through Megatron’s fridge had make Rodimus feel better about that one time she’d ended up knocking on Megatron’s door at one in the morning to find out if she had pickles, and they’d spent an extremely weird hour eating bread and butter pickles straight from the jar and generally bitching about spiro and incompetent pharmacy reps.

 

“I’ve got instant oatmeal if you want food not-in-bar-form.” Ratchet says, as they bring out Drift’s tea to Drift’s quiet ‘thanks’. “And.. I don’t know, other stuff. Oatmeal’d be something hot.” Ratchet peers at Drift and Rodimus. “Don’t tell me you’ve cracked your ribs again. I swear, I’d think you had a personal vendetta against the things.”

 

“My ribs are fine, Doc,” Rodimus says, grinning. “Really, we’re fine.” She says, waving at herself and Drift. 

 

Ratchet grumbles at the nickname, but they’re smiling on the inside, Rodimus can tell. 

 

“These two could use a check, though,” Rodimus adds, because Megs had gotten banged around a fair bit, and Mims had obviously taken a big hit. 

 

Ratchet squints at the two of them. “We’ve met before, you’re the one with the safety complaints, and you’re the one with the illegal cat.”

 

“Not  _ my _ cat.” Megatron says, with the glimmerings - perhaps even an edge - of the long theorized but never observed cryptid of Lost Light University known as ‘Megatron smiling’.

 

Ratchet rolls their eyes. “Sure.” They say, in a vaguely amused way that suggests they’ve had this conversation before, more than once. “I’d ask how you got caught up with these two idiots, but I’m sure I don’t want to know the answer.”  They peer at Minimus. “What happened? I don’t mean come up with one of Rodimus-and-Drift’s stories,” They add, waving a hand, “I mean - did you hit your head?” She glares at Rodimus, “I swear, if you brought someone  _ here  _ with a head injury instead of to the damn  _ hospital,  _ Rodimus -” 

 

“She didn’t hit her head,” Rodimus says at the same time as Minimus says “I didn’t hit my head.”

 

Ratchet sighs. “You’re absolutely sure? You don’t have to have lost consciousness to have a concussion.”

 

“No, I’m just - very tired.” Minimus says around a mouthful of energy bar, which is a real sign that she’s at the end of her rope, because ‘Minimus speaking with food in her mouth’ falls into the same box with ‘Ratchet having any sort of voluntary interaction with social media’ labeled ‘sure signs of an oncoming ski season in hell.’ 

 

The microwave pings, and Ratchet gives Minimus one last look before ducking in to get it. “You might be dehydrated, I’m getting you some juice too.” They say from the kitchenette before bringing out a cup of hot chocolate and another paper cup. “Is the fatigue a common thing, or -”

 

“No, I just -” And Minimus pauses, and Rodimus recognizes the panic of ‘can’t say I got knocked out of my giant magic Magnus mode when fighting alien demon-y things’ in her eyes. “- did something very difficult.” Minimus finishes, lamely. To be fair, Rodimus considers, not everyone can have her flair for bullshitting on the spot.

 

_ Also  _ to be fair, Rodimus does  _ not  _ make a joke that in  _ any  _ way involves what could be called Megatron’s ‘difficult’ personality  _ or _ the colloquial use of ‘do’. 

 

She  _ does _ shoot Drift a intent sidelong look and hope that Drift picks up the joke by sudden-activation magical roommate-telepathy. She doesn’t get any telepathic signals back, but she does get the edge of a carefully concealed grin, which basically counts. 

 

While Minimus sips on hot chocolate, Ratchet does a quick check to make sure there isn’t anything wrong with Megatron - well, pickle-related solidarity aside, there are many, many things wrong with Megatron, in Rodimus’s unhumble opinion, but none of those are really Ratchet’s fault or purview, really, so you can’t blame them for that - and then moves on to take a closer look at Minimus. 

 

Ratchet looks intently at Minimus when they notice her gritting her teeth, “You got hit?”

 

Minimus nods, and points to her right shoulder. 

 

“Can you move it?”

 

“It is - quite painful.” Minimus says, touching it gingerly, shoulder still immobile. 

 

“Okay,” Ratchet frowns. “Is it alright if I touch it?” 

 

Minimus nods, and Ratchet reaches for her shoulder. Minimus winces immediately as they make contact. 

 

“Sorry -” Ratchet says, hand still on her shoulder. “I think it might be dislocated. There’s a lot of swelling, but it doesn’t feel too badly deformed, so it should go back into place fairly easily.” They lean back. “You should really see a doctor to check properly th -”

 

“ _ No doctors. _ ” Minimus says. 

 

Ratchet sighs. “Do you want me to try and move it back into place?” they ask, frowning.

 

“Yes,” Minimus says, wincing. “Please.”

 

Ratchet reaches for her arm again, “Okay, I’m going to need you to stay as relaxed as possible, alright?”

 

If you took the precise and perfect antonym of the word ‘relaxed’ and concentrated the manifestation of that word into a single person, that person would be Minimus right now, in this exact moment

 

“A doctor could give you a muscle relaxant for -” Ratchet starts, but Minimus shakes her head again. Ratchet shoots a vaguely despairing look at Rodimus and Drift. 

 

“This reminds me of something I was reading earlier,” Megatron starts, and Minimus’s attention immediately shifts. “About medical ethics, blah blah blah, blah blah, words words, despite the fact that I am incredibly capable of giving very rousing speeches I can also talk forever, like this, about unbelievably boring things, and sometimes perfectly interesting things that I manage to make boring, somehow, who really knows, no wonder Minimus and I get along so well, if we were less emotionally constipated we probably would have made out like, last week, but that’s probably never going to happen because I’m an enormous stick in the mud, wow, somehow I’m still talking, at least three of those words I just said cannot possibly be real words, may I draw your attention to the fact that Drift is sitting right next to you and makes an incredibly comfy pillow, and sleep is really really great -”

 

“Oh -” Minimus says, and Rodimus is definitely, super awake, yup, still here, ignore the fact that her head has migrated over to the vicinity of Drift’s shoulder, it’s fine. 

 

There may be _some people,_ Rodimus notes as Drift leans over slightly so she can rest her chin on top of Rodimus’s head, who would say that there was an element of a pot calling the kettle black, vis-a-vis Rodimus talking shit about Megs for not dealing with her ‘feelings’. Those people, in Rodimus’s considered opinion, are no fun at parties.

 

“Feel better?” Ratchet says, with a little smile as they let go of Minimus’s arm.  

 

Minimus gingerly touches her own shoulder. “Yes - thank you,”

 

“Let me get you an ice pack - you have ibuprofen, right?”

 

Minimus nods. “I have a kit prepared for minor medical issues, there is already an ice pack included -”

 

“I’ll feel better if I get you strapped up myself before you go,” Ratchet says, coming back from the kitchenette with an ice pack. “If that’s okay.”

 

Minimus nods.

 

“Try not to move it too much,” Ratchet says, as they put the ice pack on Minimus’s shoulder carefully, “and take some ibuprofen with food every four hours to manage the pain for the next day. If you run out, or if it’s still giving you trouble, come find me.”

 

“Thank you.” Minimus says. 

 

“And seriously, please eat some real food soon.” 

 

Minimus almost smiles, and nods. 

 

Ratchet shoves the two paper cups into Minimus’s hands. “Alright, that’s enough of that nonsense, all of you get out of my room.” 

 

Rodimus rolls her eyes. 

 

“We can at least wash these up for you,” Drift says, holding up her mug. 

 

“ _ Absolutely not _ .” Ratchet says, snatching the mugs out of their hands. “Last time I let you in my kitchen I never heard the end of it -”

 

“I’m just saying, you should really consider more non-GMO options. The -”

 

“One of us has actually done molecular biology coursework and guess what?  _ It’s not you. _ ” Ratchet pinches the bridge of their nose and sighs. “You don’t have to wash your damn mug, kid, just - go home and get some sleep, and for pete’s sake - all of you - try not to get beat up between now and a reasonable hour of daylight.”

 

Drift smiles a little, lifting the nonbinary pride flower back out of her bun and sticking it behind Ratchet’s ear. Ratchet rolls their eyes, and Drift puts a hand on Rodimus’s shoulder. “We’ll walk you back.” She says to Megatron and Minimus.

 

“Rodimus,” Ratchet starts, with a grimace. “Hang on a second.”

 

Drift stops too, hand still on Rodimus’s shoulder. Rodimus looks at Ratchet, and reads their look. “It’s alright,” She says to Drift. “I’ll catch up. Make sure Mims gets back okay, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Drift looks at Rodimus, and then at Ratchet. “See you in a bit. Thanks again, Ratchet.”

 

Ratchet grumbles vaguely in Drift’s direction as Drift shepherds Megatron and Minimus out.

 

As the door closes, Rodimus twirls the flower in her hands, definitely-not-nervously, “Okay, Ratch, what’s up?” 

 

Ratchet frowns. “I - “ They start, and sigh. “There’s no chance you’re going to tell me what’s really going on here, is there?”

 

“I -” Rodimus looks at Ratchet’s face, and really,  _ really  _ wants to tell them, because they look, just for a moment as they sigh, utterly exhausted, in a bone-deep way that goes beyond their usual ‘I’m tired and I don’t have time for your shit’ kind of way. Exhausted and worried, and neither of those are things Rodimus likes. 

 

But Ravage had been  _ very  _ clear on the terms of secrecy, and, more than that, Rodimus knows full well that the truth, from her, right now, would sound like a lie.

 

“I’m sorry, Ratch, really, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She says, finally. Ratchet shakes their head, like that’s the answer they expected. “It’s something good.” Rodimus says, to try and soften the blow. “And it’s important, Ratchet, I swear.”

 

“And you two - you  _ four,  _ now, two undergrads and - hell, aren’t those two  _ law students? -  _ a gang of  _ goddamn kids  _ are the  _ only  _ ones who can do - whatever the hell it is that’s getting you beat to hell and back every other day?”

 

“You should see the other guys,” Rodimus says, with a grin that betrays more tiredness than she’d like to show. 

 

“You can’t call - hell,  _ anyone else,  _ to deal with whatever - fuck, what is her - whatever fucking  _ Jessica Jones- _ ing you’re getting up to?”

 

“No one else to call.” Rodimus says. “We are the Ghostbusters.” Which, actually, a lot more accurate than she’d considered when she first thought of it. 

 

“And I can’t talk you into at least going to a fucking  _ actual doctor  _ when this happens  _ again?  _ Hell, I don’t  _ care _ how much you lie to the ER docs about  _ whatever’s  _ happening, for fuck’s sake, make up whatever you want.” Ratchet holds up a hand to forestall what Rodimus is about to say next. “I know you don’t want to - but you could at least let me help you find one of the on campus doctors that you could trust.”

 

“I -” Rodimus starts. “We trust you, Ratch, if someone else - if -”

 

“If someone else actually started asking questions, and doing their  _ damn job  _ to actually look after a bunch of dumb kids -” Ratchet frowns, more at themself than at Rodimus, and sighs. “I -” They sit down in their desk chair. “That one girl -” They look at Rodimus to check, and Rodimus kind of half-shrugs and nods - ‘cause Mims has got her own maybe-genderfluid thing going on that she’s still working the details out on for herself - and like, god knows she’s only going to pick a label if she’s fully apprised of its complete linguistic and social history and assured herself that it does not incorrectly mix Latin and Greek roots or somesuch - but ‘girl’s generally her area. 

 

They’d had a conversation when Rodimus had started calling the lot of them ‘Magical Girls’, anyway, and Mims had been - well, ‘happy with it’ implied a level of enthusiasm for Rodimus’s pop-culture-referencing shenanigans that would simply be dishonest, but the ‘girls’ part certainly wasn’t the problem. This’d been after Rodimus’d had a conversation with Drift, because Drift ‘doesn’t really feel the need for labels, y’know?’ but generally explains it like - being a girl but not  _ only  _ a girl, like she had extra gender or something - she has good vibes with ‘nonbinary girl’, so like, Rodimus’d figured she’d be cool with the name, but it never hurt to ask, y’know? And Drift  _ had  _ been  _ actually _ happy about the whole Magical Girls concept, not the least ‘cause it gave her an excuse to rewatch Sailor Moon with Rodimus, and Rodimus certainly wasn’t going to complain about that.

 

So. Magical Girls - though Rodimus and Drift had backup squad names stewing in case that changed, on Mims part or anyone else’s. Rodimus’s kind of fond of picking something with ‘trans’ in the name, because  _ honestly _ . 

 

(The obvious reason aside, they also have a  _ transformation sequence,  _ the pun is  _ right there. _ )

 

“ - Minimus, she -” Ratchet continues, bringing Rodimus back to the present, “Rodimus, that didn’t look good. I’m not just talking about the dislocated shoulder -”

 

“Which you did a great job with. Top-notch doc-work.” Rodimus says, sitting down across from her, on the bed.” I’m sure Mims really appreciated it.”

 

Ratchet barrels on. “She was clearly shaken up - I don’t know if she was in shock, I know you said she didn’t have a head injury -”

 

“She didn’t.”

 

“But - Rodimus -” Ratchet sighs. “If it  _ is  _ a head injury, if something happened and you didn’t see it, or if it’s something else - if she takes a bad turn, if something happens tonight, that’s on  _ me.  _ Because I let her go, and I didn’t call an ambulance.”

 

“You can’t -”

 

“I’m  _ not a doctor,  _ Rodimus.”

 

“Not yet,” Rodimus says, with a weak smile.

 

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not a doctor  _ right now _ , when you’re coming to me for  _ medical treatment.”  _ Ratchet says, exasperated, but too tired to have real energy to it. “I’m trained in first response. I’m  _ qualified  _ for first response. I’m not trained for four  _ idiots _ who keep showing up with injuries that I can’t report, that I can’t send to the hospital, and I’m not trained for whatever  _ worse  _ injury one of you shows up with in a month, that I  _ can’t  _ handle!”

 

“Ratchet -” Rodimus starts, because what can she say? ‘Well, actually, let me tell you the truth, we all have badges that give us superpowers and one of those is that we kinda heal faster than most people? And we’re really hard to beat up. So like, this bruise you see on my shoulder not only came from a hit that would knock over a small hippopotamus, but will be mostly gone by tomorrow. Oh, and Mims being shaky is because someone hit her so hard that she shrunk from her turbocharged giant form that she sometimes shapeshifts into, because  _ that _ ’s a thing.’

 

Because they - back when it was just Drift and her - the two of them had gone on not- _terribly_ before Ratchet caught them trying to clean up blood and laughing in the shared bathroom. Ratchet - they made things better. Got things clean, made sure they didn’t heal wrong - because _that_ had been an unpleasant experience, the first time. They made it _hurt_ less. 

 

And they - even though it makes Rodimus feel ridiculous to even think it, given that she can literally  _ light things on fire _ \- Ratchet makes all of them feel safe. Makes  _ her  _ feel safe.

 

She doesn’t want to lose that.

 

“I swear, Ratchet, if it’s something serious, we’ll go to the emergency room, I  _ promise.  _ I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 

“You don’t  _ know  _ if it’s serious!  _ I  _ don’t know if it’s serious!” Ratchet says. “Hell, we’re having a good day if the ER docs know it’s serious! Someone could hit their head, or have internal injuries, or  _ collapse their fucking lung,  _ and you - you might not have  _ any fucking clue _ until it’s  _ too late,  _ Rodimus,  _ do you get it? _ ” 

 

“Yeah,” Rodimus says, deflated. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry, Ratchet.”

 

“Do you know what I - do you know what I’d do if one of you -” Ratchet trails off, and doesn’t look at her. 

 

“We’ll stop coming.” Rodimus says, solemnly, “I’m sorry, Ratchet, I had no right to put that on you, I didn’t think -”

 

“I don’t want -” Ratchet growls, and scrunches up their face in their hands. “I don’t want the two of you - the  _ four  _ of you to go back to trying to patch yourselves up like idiots in the fucking  _ bathroom,  _ I don’t want to not  _ know  _ when -” They trail away angrily again. 

 

“I’m sorry.”  

 

“I -” Ratchet starts. “I just want to stop seeing you kids get  _ hurt  _ and not knowing  _ why. _ ” They sink their head into their hands, and mumble, “I don’t want something to happen to one of you where I can’t  _ fix  _ it.”

 

“Ratchet - I -” Rodimus leans over, reaches out a hand, then pulls it back. Ratchet looks up at her, and -

 

_ Fuck  _ Ravage.

 

“Okay,” Rodimus says. “I’m going to tell you what’s going on, but first I have to show you something, because otherwise you won’t believe me, okay?” 

 

Ratchet looks at her skeptically, but sighs and nods.

 

“Okay.” Rodimus says. “You’re not hallucinating, alright? Just trust me.”

 

Ratchet frowns at her. “Either you’ve cracked or this is the worst practical joke of all time.”

 

Rodimus sighs and takes out her badge. “Autobot power - transform and roll out!”

 

When she lands, Ratchet is still squinting from the glare of the light.

 

“So, uh,” Rodimus starts.

 

“What,” Ratchet finally says, “the  _ fuck _ .”

 

“Yeah. So - yeah.”

 

Ratchet keeps staring. Finally, they stand up and start prodding at the ribbons on Rodimus’s uniform, and then stop as soon as they notice the glowing not-string on her bow.

 

“What the  _ hell  _ is that?” Ratchet says, reaching out a hand as if to touch it and pulling back just as quickly when they feel the heat. 

 

“My bow?” Rodimus replies, taking a few steps  back so she can pull a glowing arrow from her quiver, knocking it and drawing the bow before she realizes that she has absolutely nowhere to fire it and slowly lowering the bow, focusing enough that she can will the arrow out of existence. 

 

“But what the hell is it  _ made  _ of? How is it not burning your  _ hands? _ ” Ratchet asks as they grab Rodimus’s free hand and examine her fingers.

 

“Uh, energy? And - magic, I guess?”

 

Ratchet fixes her with a stare equal parts skeptical, disappointed, and simply  _ done _ , a true Ratchet special that would turn lesser people to salt. 

 

“Magic.” They say, flatly. 

 

“Okay, listen,” Rodimus says, sitting down again and setting her bow on the floor. “So a few months ago, there was this cat, right? You know, ‘not Megs’s cat’. Except Ravage’s not a cat - I mean, like, Ravage is a person, they can talk and -”

 

“Megatron’s cat is not a cat, and they can talk.”

 

“Yeah. ‘Cause, well - Ravage’s from another galaxy - or another dimension? The translator always gets fucked up around that point when Ravage is explaining, but, point is, there’s bad shit from Rav’s place, and we’ve been chosen to fight it. With these.” Rodimus says, tapping the badge that sits right at her collarbones. “They’re what - makes all of this, and the bow, and -” She holds out her hand, and focuses, really, really hard on keeping what she is about to do very very carefully contained around her hand.

 

“ _ Fucking hell _ ,” Ratchet scrambles back as Rodimus lights her whole hand on  _ fire,  _ and that? Lighting on fire? That’s something that stops being cool exactly  _ never. _

 

Once they realize that their room is not about to go up in flames, Ratchet moves back, closer, staring at what Rodimus knows are her own now-glowing eyes, and waves a finger quickly through the very top of the flame on her hand. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

 

“Pretty cool, right?”

 

“I’ve completely lost it.” Ratchet says, “Either I’ve completely lost it or you’ve picked the single  _ worst  _ possible time to try out your routine for Penn and Teller -”

 

“Ratchet, really, you think I’d -?” Rodimus starts, a little offended, because they’d been having a  _ moment. _

 

“ _ Fine,  _ I’ve gone round the bend.” Ratchet stares despairingly at the pile of textbooks by their bed. 

 

“Ratchet, you’re fine, really,” Rodimus sighs, “And you wondered why I didn’t tell you…”

 

Of course, if the person she told doesn’t actually believe what she said, does that mean she doesn’t have to tell Ravage she let the secret out? Because, wow, Ravage is going to be  _ fucking pissed. _

 

Ratchet groans. “And what you’re telling me is that you’re fighting cross-dimensional evil in - in ribbons -” Ratchet reaches out at one of her ribbons again, like they’re expecting they can find the catch to all of this nonsense. “ - because a cat told you to, and you really, _really_ expect me to take you seriously? You really expect me to believe that’s why you turn up injured every week, because evil aliens punched you?”

 

“... Yes?”

 

Ratchet buries their head in their hands, and then turns and peers between their fingers to look at a clock. “It is two thirty in the morning and I am going to go to sleep.” Ratchet says, “I am going to go to sleep,” they repeat with a tone of absolute finality. “And I am going to wake up, and this is going to all have been a very, very weird dream brought on by  _ really  _ bad - fucking -  bad ramen.” They stand up, and move towards their bed, very definitively not looking at Rodimus.

 

Rodimus sighs, and lets herself drop back into her original mode, ribbons and bows (and bow) dissolving, leaving her back again in flannel and torn jeans. “I’m not lying to you, Ratchet, I swear. I know this is important.”

 

Ratchet looks at her, and for a moment they look like they almost believe her, and Rodimus is sure that they’re going to say  _ something,  _ but they shake their head with a dull grumble that says ‘people time is over.’

 

“I’ll talk to you in the morning?” Rodimus asks, and is answered with a dull nod and a more affirmative-sounding grumble.

 

She tucks the flower back into the mug and reaches for the door, but sneaks one final check over her shoulder before she closes it. “Thanks, Ratch,”

 

\---

 

Rodimus doesn’t talk to Ratchet in the morning. 

She goes to their room in the morning - well, okay, the tail end of the morning, but not technically yet the afternoon - with Drift, which is either a really good or a really bad idea, because yeah, Ratchet has a soft spot for Drift about the size of the moon, but also Drift might talk about her spiritual connection with her badge and her sword and Ratchet may argue about the fact that ‘that’s nonsense, Drift, for crying out loud, next thing you’re going to be talking about  _ crystals _ \- ’ for the better part of half an hour and absolutely nothing will be resolved. Y’know. Hypothetically.

 

But.

 

Arguing Ratchet is not  _ sad  _ Ratchet, and sad Ratchet is, by a wide margin, officially the worst Ratchet, 0/10, would not repeat, avoid making Ratchet sad at all costs. 

 

She’s expecting high levels of grumpy Ratchet when she knocks on their door. She’s not expecting silence.

 

Drift looks at her, and she looks back at Drift. She’d told Drift what had happened - because obviously, it’s Drift, they always tell each other the important stuff, right? - under an oath of secrecy not to tell Ravage - or Megs, who absolutely  _ would _ tell Ravage, without question - at least until they’d had a chance to talk to Ratchet, here, and now.

 

Theoretically.

 

Rodimus knocks again. 

 

Silence again.

 

“Ratchet?” Drift calls out.

 

“Hey, Ratchet!” Rodimus shouts. 

 

Nothing.

 

“Do you hear anything?” Rodimus asks.

 

“No.” Drift says. “There’s - no response. They’re not responding.”

 

“Maybe they left and we missed it?”

 

Drift fidgets. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

 

Rodimus looks at Drift. Drift looks at Rodimus.

 

“Okay.” Rodimus says, and nods. “RATCHET!” She shouts, pounding on the door. “WE’RE COMING IN!”

 

Silence. 

 

The two of them turn and look at each other, and with one movement they both turn and kick open the door. 

 

It swings open to a room devoid of Ratchet.

 

It’s a disaster, and not in the usual way that Ratchet’s room occasionally descends into something verging on chaos when they don’t sleep for 48 hours - and even that certainly couldn’t compete with even the bare minimum of what Rodimus would consider chaos.

 

No.

 

The room has been wrecked. Violently and indiscriminately. More than just evidence of a struggle, someone wanted to  _ show  _ that they had destroyed Ratchet’s place. 

 

Rodimus’s fingernails dig into her palms.

 

_ This is all my fault.  _ She thinks with bone-deep certainty.

 

“Ratchet -” Drift gasps, and Rodimus immediately turns -  _ did she find them - ? _

 

But then she sees what Drift sees, the message, scrawled red across the wall of the kitchenette. 

 

_ WE HAVE YOUR FRIEND _

 

_ COME TO THE DOCKS AT SUNDOWN IF YOU WANT TO SEE THEM AGAIN _

 

Scrawled below that is a poorly drawn Autobot badge with an X drawn through it. 

 

She’s shaking. Drift is too. They lean against each other, Drift’s fingers tight on her arm. 

 

“We’re getting them back.” Rodimus says, through gritted teeth. “We’re getting them back.”

 

\--

 

This is how it had happened.

 

It was nearly a month after they had met Ravage, nearly a month after their first fight. And they were - they were starting to get good at this, after five or six rounds of it. A less charitable person might call them cocky. 

 

But Rodimus did have a cut on her forehead, and Drift had burns on her cheeks, so they’d grabbed a few band-aids that they’d dug up from the bottom of a drawer in their dorm room and hightailed it to the communal bathroom, where they were now trying to scrub off the blood from their faces with wet paper towels.

 

They were laughing about something - Drift had made some joke about the monster they had fought, and it was, obviously, hilarious, and it seemed even funnier because it was three in the morning and they hadn’t crashed on the adrenaline yet and they were surrounded by bloody paper towels, and Drift’s hand had fallen from where she had been holding the paper towel up to Rodimus’s face, she’d leaned over so far from laughing that her forehead had collided with Rodimus’s shoulder and that was funny and good too, with Drift’s bun tickling Rodimus’s jaw, so she laughed even harder, leaning against the sink, covered with water and blood and -

 

“What is -” and Rodimus didn’t see the source of the voice, but Drift looked up, removing her head from Rodimus’s shoulder, and that  _ wasn’t  _ good _ or  _ funny. “ _ Fuck,  _ what happened to you?”

 

“I - uh -” Drift starts, and looks at Rodimus.

 

“Kitchen accident?” Rodimus suggests, turning her head to see the newcomer - someone she knew she had seen around the hall, stocky and sweater-clad with short red hair, they’d introduced themself when Rodimus had moved in, it was something else with an R, something -

 

The newcomer snorts, disbelieving even as Rodimus turns what is sure to be a winning smile on them. “Well if  _ that’s  _ true, I don’t want to see the state of the damn kitchen.” They say, walking into the bathroom to take a closer look. “Shit, are those  _ burns? _ ” 

 

Drift grins sheepishly.

 

“You really got into a fight with the oven, didn’t you.” The newcomer says, deadpan, looking around and taking in the bloody paper towels and the scattered band-aids. They sigh. “Well, come on, I can’t leave you guys here with this -” They gesture at the sink and sundry detritus. “I’ve got an actual kit in my room, you’ll want to put something on those, and that cut should be disinfected.”

 

“You’re the med student,” Drift says. “Ratchet, right?”

 

Ratchet nods. “Come on, we can do chit chat when you’re not bleeding all over the damn bathroom, you’re going to be a terror on the janitors, I’m sure.” They pull open the door and look back at the two of them. “You coming or what?”

 

Drift looks at Rodimus. Rodimus looks at Drift. 

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

And they did.  And Ratchet fixed them, and lectured Rodimus when she complained about how the hydrogen peroxide stung, and put disinfectant and burn salve on Drift’s cheeks, and rolled their eyes when Rodimus and Drift built on each other in an increasingly improbable story of their epic kitchen accident. 

 

And it meant that they had to keep bandages on their faces for days to hide the fact that the wounds healed overnight, but it still - it felt worth it.

 

And now Ratchet was gone.

 

\---

 

“We’re getting Ratchet back.” Rodimus says, to the collection of Drift, Minimus, Megatron, and Ravage.

 

“How did this  _ happen _ ?” Ravage snarls. “ _ No one  _ should have been able to make the connection between the four of you and this  _ building,  _ much less  _ Ratchet _ !  _ Ratchet  _ didn’t even know about -”

 

“Ratchet knew.”

 

“What?” Ravage snaps. “Rodimus.  _ Who told them.”  _ Ravage growls.

 

“I did. I told -  _ showed _ Ratchet what I can do, and why. It’s my fault this happened, and -” Rodimus adds to Ravage, “Whatever else happens because they know, that’s on me.”

 

“Why on  _ Earth _ would you -”

 

“Because they were scared!” Rodimus says. “Because we keep showing up hurt and they don’t know why, and they were worried about us, and with what they’ve done for us they deserve to know! That’s why!” Rodimus takes a deep breath. “None of that changes the fact that we have to get them back.”

 

Ravage mashes their face into their paws and mumbles something that might have been ‘ _ Why did I take this assignment. _ ’

 

Minimus stands up and purposefully places her hands on the desk. “How are we going to do this?”

 

Rodimus cracks her knuckles. 

 

\---

 

“Oh thank  _ god. _ ” Whines the villain of the hour, who, Rodimus notes absently in the part of her brain that isn’t currently a firey raging death inferno, somehow has _ knives  _ for hands. “Please, for the love of anything, just  _ take  _ them. I don’t even want to fight, just get them away from here, they made two of my underlings cry and talked four of them into signing up to audit undergraduate science classes. They’re  _ ogres. _ ” The villain adds, with a dramatic eye-roll.

 

Ratchet tilts their head and half-shrugs as if to say ‘that’s true.’ As soon as their hands are freed from the grasp of two remaining ogres - who, in fact, have tear tracks down both of their grey-skinned cheeks - they swipe their hand under their nose to wipe away blood, and flip the villain off with the bloody finger. 

 

The villain clasps a knife-hand to where a human heart would be and sighs. “Please. Take them,” At a gesture of knife hands, the ogres push Ratchet towards Rodimus and Drift. 

 

Rodimus looks at Drift, whose eyes are still aglow and whose sword is  _ crackling  _ with fury, even as Ratchet jogs towards them and quickly gets behind the line the four of them have formed. “Oh no.” Rodimus says, turning to Knife-Hands Mc-Ratchet-Thief, “I don’t think that’s good enough. Not at all.” 

 

With Ratchet safely behind her, she loosens the control on the flames that are flickering around her shoulders, letting them build, towering above her with rage and loathing and  _ guilt _ -

 

“Rodimus,” Minimus says, grabbing her by the arm. “We’ll take care of this. You and Drift get Ratchet out of here.” 

 

Rodimus snarls, even as she lowers the flames in response  “ _ I’ll - _ ”

 

“Rodimus,” Drift says, her lightning fading and her eyes returning to normal; and Rodimus feels her flames dissipate further.

 

She gives Minimus and Magnus a hard look. “Light them the fuck up.” She turns over her shoulder, “This is why you  _ never _ mess with our Doc, understand?”

 

She swings an arm around Ratchet while Drift supports them from the other side. 

 

She doesn’t look back.

 

\---

 

Rodimus’s immediate thought is to take Ratchet back to their own dorm room, and then she remembers that their dorm is painted with threatening messages and wrecked to hell and back, and also that she’d broken the lock when she and Drift had broken in, which they were probably going to have to deal with at some point. Not now. 

 

So instead the three of them go to Rodimus and Drift’s dorm, where Rodimus has to dash in and very quickly clear a chair to be sit-able for Ratchet. She ducks down to the fridge to look for milk for hot chocolate while Drift pulls a blanket off of her bed and wraps it around Ratchet. 

 

“You two don’t have to baby me, you know, I’m fine.” Ratchet says in spite of their impressive black eye. Drift shushes them. 

 

Rodimus sticks the hot chocolate in the microwave, then turns back to look at Ratchet. “Er, you’re probably going to want ice for that, right?”

 

Ratchet touches their nose gingerly. “I don’t think it’s broken, just banged up - oh, you mean the eye. Yeah, that - yeah.”

 

Rodimus digs back into the freezer and finds - frozen corn. Why do they have frozen corn? What did she think they were ever going to make with frozen corn? Nevermind, it would work as an icepack. She wraps it in a paper towel and hands it to the blanket-draped Ratchet. 

 

Ratchet snorts, but smiles. “Thanks.”

 

“Really, Ratch -” Drift says, “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

 

“Well, I have frozen corn on my eye, so what does that tell you?” Ratchet says, then sighs. “I’m going to appreciate my alarm clock a lot more, because it’s a hell of a lot better wake-up call than being dragged out of my window by a couple of ogres. Also, now I’m fairly certain that I’m not being pranked.” Ratchet adds, to Rodimus.

 

“I’m sorry,” Rodimus says. “I shouldn’t have shown you. I don’t know how, but they must have followed that signal, or -” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my fault.” 

 

Ratchet just stares at her. “You - you guys do realize that you’re not wearing  _ masks  _ when you do this, right? Or cowls? Those are just your faces? That everyone’s seeing?” Ratchet continues. “You mean to tell me that that was actually the  _ first  _ time that anyone has figured out that you live here?” 

 

Rodimus and Drift nod. 

 

“Huh.” Ratchet muses as Rodimus passes them a mug of hot chocolate. “I was assuming that I just got kidnapped by a particularly incompetent … ‘ _ villain’ _ , but I guess that must have been one of the ‘higher-end’ ones.” Ratchet sighs, “Listen, Rodimus, I appreciate the apology, but - I appreciate more that you were trying to tell me the truth. At least now that I know that it’s apparently the truth, and not a weird prank - and I  _ will  _ have a lot of questions about that once I don’t have corn on my eye - but…” They trail off. “Look, It’s not your fault. Just worry about my  _ kidnapper _ , alright?”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t.” Drift says, with slightly alarming cheerfulness that Rodimus is well used to. “I don’t think we’re going to have that particular worry ever again.” 

 

“We won’t let this happen to you again.” Rodimus says. “I really am sorry about pulling you into this. Even just patching us up -”

 

“I don’t regret it.” Ratchet says flatly, leaving no room for argument. “Now that I know what the hell y’all are up to, I’d regret it even less, you clearly need someone with  _ some  _ sense around.”

 

“Oh, and that’s you?” Drift asks. 

 

“Don’t get me started with you.” Ratchet says, taking a drink of hot chocolate. 

 

Drift grins. “Did you really make two of the mooks cry?”

 

“Oh, it was nearly three before you showed up.” Ratchet shrugs. “Had to talk about something to pass the time.”

 

“Good to know you’re just as argumentative when I’m  _ not  _ around.” Drift says.

 

“Listen, I’ll have you know I’ve been an argumentative bastard since long before you, kid.”

 

“But not long after?” Drift teases fondly.

 

Ratchet snorts. “You lot seem to make a habit of sticking around.” They say, trying to sound annoyed about it and failing miserably.

 

“That we do.” Rodimus says, and smiles. “We’re not going anywhere.”


End file.
